


Failed Dynasties

by NoBrandHero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoBrandHero/pseuds/NoBrandHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost eighty years ago, you ran away from home. It was the best decision you ever made outside of adopting little Jake, but your adopted mother has never given up the chase and her patience with you has long run out. Even in your old age, you're still looking over your shoulder for the inevitable moment that she catches up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failed Dynasties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OvaltineAuthoress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OvaltineAuthoress/gifts).



> Prompt: "An analysis of Jade and the Condesce's relationship. Maybe a description of her murder."

Maybe the corporation could have lasted longer if you hadn't sunk so much money into the island. You could have had a little more leeway before the investors turned on you, before the finances dried up until you didn't have enough left to pay your employees a fair wage -- at which point you couldn't in good conscience keep the business running. Maybe you could have kept it alive long enough for a miraculous recovery if you'd just had a little more sitting in your emergency funds...

But the island wasn't optional. You could lose every penny and it would still be worth all the effort and finances you put into building your safe house.

You chose the island based on the ancient ruins connected to a game that will one day bring about the downfall of your adopted mother. That alone would be reason enough to set up stakes and allow yourself ample time to comb the place, but more importantly, it gives you a home for Jake far, far from Crocker Corp's reaches.

Even if someone bombed the whole island, you've built his future room to withstand any force short of a nuclear bomb. It could fall from the top of its tower and the walls would stay intact. For now, he's young enough that he shares your room, where you can watch over him directly and keep him safe from any intruders that could pass your safeguards.

It still hurts to pull the plug on a business that you built from the ground up when you were a young lady. You knew your little robotics company couldn't defeat the batterwitch in the long-run, but you'd hoped to make her sweat a little, maybe even deliver a wound that left a scar no matter how insignificant. Instead you were little more than a pebble in her shoe.

Jake's napping in your bed and, not for the first time, you're grateful that he's a sound sleeper as you shred boxes and boxes of old business documents that you won't need anymore. Your computer lets out a warning beep from your desk as an incoming video call comes through.

Only calls from _her_ have that specific ringtone. You can't block her. God knows you've tried, but with every updated program you launch, she comes up with something so alien and strange that it takes you a month to redesign a new block, so you make do with a warning system so she at least can't take you unawares -- it's that or cut off the Internet altogether.

She doesn't bother hiding her true form from you anymore. Even if you recorded her calls, no one would believe they were real these days, with how advanced CG has gotten in the past decade.

She sits in her leather business chair as if it were a golden throne and she smiles at the camera, putting her sharp teeth on full display. "Saw this coming a whale away, you know. I mean, girl, please," she says with a laugh. "You thought you could outbusiness your ma? Making moolah swims through my royal veins and you ain't even got my genetics. Your little enterprise was fucked from night one."

You put sheet after sheet into your paper shredder, only glancing up enough to feign disinterest and really get under her skin. For once you wish your shredder was a little louder, so it could drown out that shrill alien voice that buzzes like no human throat can imitate.

"Jade Crocker," the batterwitch takes the same authoritative tone she used back when she found you or John drawing on the walls as tots, "I'm tellin' you one more time to get your ass back home before you really fuck up." She adjusts in her seat, frowning a touch as she rests her chin in her gray alien hand. "Been lonely as shit around here since your bro got smooshed by a meteor anyway."

"You should have thought of that before you killed my dog and threatened the existence of my entire species," you say pleasantly, nudging the shredder closer to the computer to ensure she hears a nice earful of _VRRRRRRrrrrm_ as you shred another document.

She snorts. "Getting rid of that stupid mutt and your shitty business were just the first steps in taking you down a peg." She points a finger at you. "We ain't done by a long-shot, Jade. Don't think I don't know 'bout that boy of yours either."

"Mm-hm," you say. Of course she's aware of Jake. You couldn't exactly keep an adopted grandson secret as a well-known businesswoman. It took all of your resources just to keep the island off-the-record.

She bristles at your indifference and snaps more vague threats at you, but you're so fully engrossed in your work that you don't even have to pretend to ignore her. There goes a tax statement from ten years ago, good-bye to an ex-employee's records, and that's another death sentence for some safety program you had to sign off on a few months ago...

The batterwitch ends the call with a huff and that's when you know you're safe, for now. She wouldn't waste time intimidating you and nothing more if she actually knew where you were.

You sigh and finish shredding the paper still sitting in the nearest box. There are another dozen boxes to go through -- paperwork was hands down the _worst_ part of your otherwise enjoyable venture into business and that trend continues post-bankruptcy -- but you need a break first.

You crawl into bed next to Jake, not even bothering to slip under the covers but just curling around his tiny fragile body.

If you can't be the one to do it, you hope little Jake grows up to be the young man to give your adopted mother a good clean clocking. You just wish you could live long enough to see it. Someone had better record it and pass it along to the afterlife for you.

It's not the last time the batterwitch contacts you over the next three years. You're good at ignoring her by now, never rising to her bait no matter how much she _deserves_ a stern talking-to. You used to yell at her when you were younger and give her a piece of your mind, but it did no good anyway.

Her calls are almost scripted as they go on: gloat, threaten, coax. She becomes so predictable that you can practically mouth along with her. It's lessened your dread of her considerably, to the point you catch yourself letting your guard down sometimes.

You're just finishing off your coffee one morning when she interrupts your routine with a call that deviates from her normal pattern.

"Pacific Ocean, eh?" she says instead of a greeting. "Never would've thought you'd take to a mass of water, my little runaway. Right smack in the middle of all those lusii I imported, no less!"

You tense and refuse to look her direction as you set down your empty mug. You can't give away your fear and confirm her suspicions.

She laughs anyway. "Yeah, bitch. I found you. Can't wait to give my little girl a hug again."

"Grandma?" Jake's voice is small as he peeks into the room.

You slam the laptop shut. "Hey, kiddo." You force a smile and stride over to him before he can ask what you were up to on the computer. "I'm going out to explore the ruins today, okay? Think you can handle making lunch for yourself?"

He stands up tall and proud. "Yes'm, I know where everything is and I won't gallop around with the knife."

You tousle his hair. "That's my boy." You hesitate, then kneel to be on eye-level with him and pull him into a hug. "I love you so much, Jake. You be good while I'm gone. Keep lots of computers with you and never go out unarmed."

He squirms into the hug. "I know, Grandma."

You pet his hair and refuse to stop smiling. You can't let him know anything's wrong. He'll be fine. You've done everything you can for him and you _will_ make sure he's safe, even if it means not coming back.

You force yourself to release him. You can't risk dallying.

You grab your best rifles and set out. You know the jungle like the back of your hand, from every dip in the ground to the location of trees with boughs low and strong enough to hold your weight in an emergency. You retrace your usual path towards the ruins on auto-pilot, though it wouldn't take your expertise to follow it: the grass is worn thin from the number of times you've trampled over it in your boots.

The monsters that lurk amidst the trees haven't posed a threat to you in years. You know how they hunt, what signs to watch for... You raise your rifle and shoot one of the giant crabs straight in the head just as it raises itself to leap at you.

Leaves shake and branches snap as the other nearby alien fauna flee from the sound of your gunshot. On a good day, just one kill is all it takes to scare away all but the most determined predators, but you always keep your weapon ready just the same.

You're almost to the water when you hear the roar of engines overhead. You catch sight of a bright red battleship circling your island, its design like nothing human-made you've ever seen. It glides through the air with surprising grace for its size and it emits no visible exhaust. You can't help trying to blueprint it in your head at first glance, but you shake away the impulse so you can focus on the task at hand.

You dart to the water's edge. You know where the local sea monsters make their home and you throw a hand grenade of your own design into the water with careful aim. You count down five seconds before it explodes, showering you in a wave of salt water.

One of the goat-fish-like creatures emerges from the water with a deafening scream, its face covered in a purple wound. You just hope the ruckus is enough to catch the batterwitch's interest before she finds your house.

You can't move like you used to, but you've kept agile in your old age. You sprint fast enough to dodge the infuriated goat's attempts at revenge as it slams its head against the ground, missing you by mere feet. You duck behind a boulder and ready your gun for the first opportunity to open fire.

The ground shakes as the goat strikes again, hitting where you would have been if you'd kept running. Breathing heavily, you wait just long enough for it to grow confused by your disappearance. You dart away from your cover to take aim. Before it has time to react, you've landed twelve rounds into its neck. Its head wobbles, then it lets out a whine and submerges back into its home to lick its wounds.

You look to the sky. The battle caught the battleship's attention as planned and it loops in smaller and smaller circles as it descends. You can see a dark figure standing over the bow, her long hair whipping about in the wind. She's too far away to see clearly, but you'd know the silhouette of your adopted mother anywhere. You're quite certain she's staring right back at you.

The batterwitch leaps off the side of her ship despite the height remaining. As satisfying as it would be to see her land with a splat, she instead uses one of her many psychic powers to fly safely to the ground.

You keep a tight grip on your weapon and stand your ground as she lands. She doesn't look any older than she did the day you ran away seventy years ago. You'd love to blast that smug smirk off her face, but you can't afford to be rash. If she's not attacking you on sight, you'll draw out the encounter as long as you can in hopes that she'll forget to look for your house later.

She tuts as she struts closer. "Still gonna give your lusus-mom that expression for a greeting? I went against my troll instincts and raised you as my own, you ungrateful brat." 

You step backwards, carefully staying out of her reach even as you keep your head raised. "You should have followed your instincts. You were a dreadful parent."

She shakes her head. "You were gonna be my heiress, Jade. All the filthy riches and power you coulda wanted, plus I would've let you live forever." She examines her nails, sighing dramatically. "But now that I've been readyin' another Crocker girl to take over the empire, I ain't need to be patient with you no more."

"Another Crocker girl?" you say, narrowing your eyes. Who can she have roped into her schemes now?

She smirks. "Barely two sweeps old and John's li'l granddaughter's already a natural. Couldn't ask for a better heiress."

Your blood runs cold and you point the barrel of your gun at her. "You stay away from my niece!" you shout. It was bad enough that you never saved your brother from her influence. Like _hell_ you'll let her sink her claws into John's offspring.

"Ah-ah." She wags a finger at you. "She's my human great-grandwiggler too. And thanks to you, I know not to take any damn chances with her. I'm sending her the most sweetass gadgets to grow up on, all designed special just for her little human think pan..." Her smile widens, showing off her full set of fangs. "She's gonna be wrapped tight around my finger before she's even set her gander bulbs on me."

You pull the trigger. You don't know if she thought you didn't have it in you to fire at a sapient being or if she just overestimated her ability to dodge a bullet, but she only ducks fast enough that the bullet rips through her temple instead of shooting right through her forehead. It might have still been a lethal wound if she were human, but you know she's sturdier than that.

She doesn't even fall from the blow, just stumbles back. She lifts her head with a snarl and, before you can even turn to run, she's equipped her trident and thrown it straight at you.

It doesn't hurt at first. It's just a heavy pressure as if you've been punched in the gut, solar plexus, and chest all at once. It's only when she catches the handle and drags the prongs out again that you're overtaken by pain so unbearable that you collapse to your knees.

She wipes a smear of pink blood off her temple, though it's quickly replaced as more drips down her face. "See ya, Jade." She isn't smiling anymore as she turns her back on you. "You would've made a fintastic Crocker, but guess I'll have to make do with a dead English."

It hurts to so much as breathe; you can't even quip that being dead is still a step up from working under her.

You fumble for your weapon but your hands shake too much to get a solid grip on it in time to stop her. Your one consolation is that she stumbles before taking to the air. Maybe you'll be leaving her a scar after all, even if it's hidden beneath her hair.

You only dare to haul yourself back to your feet once she's aboard her ship and steering it out of sight. Its engines stay a constant thrumming in the distance. She hasn't left the area yet, but she probably isn't watching over you anymore, confident that you're dying.

She's right to have that confidence. Your legs can barely hold your weight and your vision blurs from pain. You keep moving anyway, back up the familiar path towards your house.

Maybe you can get back in time to carry Jake somewhere safer than the exposed tower (and to tell him you love him again).

Maybe the prongs missed your vital organs and you can bandage yourself up before you run out of blood, if you can just move fast enough.

You're getting light-headed. You don't remember collapsing, but the cold ground presses against your face. You've always loved sliding your fingers through dirt and the texture is comforting now, even through the pain.

Maybe you can survive this, just to spite the batterwitch one last time.

You keep crawling.


End file.
